A Bit Alike
by Pinkdarkrose
Summary: The Courtesan never cared much for any of the Borgia allies, including the infuriating Footpad in all his self-assured confidence. How can a shallow man like him speak so easily about the deadly Assassins closing in at the pair's heels... Slight Fiora/Lanz, set before Cesare's death.


Playing multiplayer AC III recently, especially the character The Robber, got me to thinking about The Footpad and all the other fond characters from Brotherhood. I went through my documents folder and dug up this old thing, brushed it up a bit and thought to submit it here since it's one of the better, complete ideas I have.

This is nothing too important, too significant; a bit too long to be considered a drabble, but not long enough to be made into a story...(?). Just a bit of character development for Lanz and a bit of Fiora, my two all-time favourite characters from the series. I hope I didn't get them too out of character, although I did take some liberties to get them with more depth.

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Her short courtesan sleeves serve as a flimsy barrier against the still coldness of the early morning, but when Cesare's guards had arrived through smashing doors and loud orders and hoisted her out of her home, she couldn't really suggest they go back for a coat. They had shoved her onto a crude short boat in such a haste that she wasn't actually aware of what was really happening until they were rowing out to sea in deafening silence. She turned to the nearest soldier, focused in on him with glaring eyes and icily demanded that he tell her the meaning of the abrupt situation. His brown eyes evaded her look and the other guards shared equally uneasy, shifting glances before he finally muttered quietly the one word that could make her blood drop to her feet.

"_Assassino_."

Fiora blinks at the guard, dry throat swallowing back a meek reply. She looks at the other guards, their serious faces focused on rowing, trying their best to ignore her.

"I… see," she says at last before quietly sitting down because really, what more is there to say? After six years of working undercover for Cesare, of course something would eventually leak to the men in white. One too many deeds done against them had called attention to her and it looked like they had finally made her into a priority. Fiora would be flattered if she weren't so terrified of them.

Her eyes raise and through the fog she sees a silhouette of a large, husky ship rocking back and forth with the dull waves. She gives a glance back to shore, the line of land almost unnoticeable through the heavy early morning smog. It would seem that Cesare had still found her valuable enough to drop her in a safe place out on the sea until the alarm of the Assassin would die down. The rowboat slowly draws closer to the large, creaking ship and up close Fiora sees the ominous deserted, ship is probably in its last year of good use. Still, the fact that Cesare had even cared enough to whisk her away so stealthily stunned her. It would seem she had time before he would chose to threaten her loyalty again.

The rowboat lightly bumps into the ship and the men get up and help her reach out for the already drawn rope ladder. The rope is moist and dark but Fiora jumps for it anyway, not even thanking the guards for their assistance. They give her a snort as she flips onto the ship's silent main deck before rowing back the way they came, not stopping for a break though she can clearly see the sweat staining the undershirts beneath their armor. Cesare must have plans for the every guard in Rome and Fiora assumes the soldiers must return for more preparations.

Fiora stands there against the railing, looking out onto the deck and shudders. Completely alone on a wet, disgusting ship. Cesare hadn't intended for her to be comfortable in her seclusion. Her eyes land on a rotted black door, the captain's door to his cabin. There is a lock molded onto the door and Fiora loses hope that any amount of shoving will actually get her inside.

Fiora sighs and rubs the back of her neck. "Just as well. I'm not so sure I'd like to see what the Borgia have stashed in there."

Fiora wanders carefully among the decks on the ship, eyes darting back from the messy floor littered with ropes and rusted swords and a few grappling hooks, to the deserted ocean covered in gray fog. The anxiety of seeing another boat approaching gnaws at her mind as she remembers just how dedicated the Assassins are to getting their targets. She's been in Cesare's company when a breathless messenger arrives, giving news of Assassin reports. She's seen the glint of fear in his black eyes before he coolly orders more troops to be sent out. Even Cesare is scared.

Her boots delicately step over soggy ropes tangled with each other. Every piece of ship deck is covered with indiscernible ancient junk or warped planks. Her eyes dart along the floor, hoping to find a dry spot she can sit down in when the tiniest spark of silver catches her attention. She crouches down and slightly forward and squints her eyes. Against her better judgment, her cold fingers reach out and pull from more rope a thin, silver necklace. The clasp is broken and the jewelry unimpressive in its value, but the fact that it's on a ship among swords and broken glass confuses Fiora. She shrugs to herself and tucks the silver chain in her bosom, deciding that with some touching up it could be sold for a bit of coin.

Something hard hits the side of the ship to make a sound but not enough to rock the mighty vessel and Fiora jumps with the sudden noise. Her hair flips in the air as she turns in fear in direction of the thud. The time she spent idly looking for a place to sit seemed to have cost her, as she hears voices below the ship on a shorter boat.

She hears more voices arguing back and while the entrance is not at all cleanly executed, as she would expect from an Assassin, she can't help but still feel on edge until there is a confirmation that this indeed is not an enemy. One more _thock!_ is heard —a fist hitting more solid flesh— and then a laugh before a set of hands appear on the railing. Fiora stumbles back when she sees the copper-brown hair, the cocky grin and the alert eyes sweeping over the ship before landing on her. He lands on the rail in a crouch and tilts his head, raises a gloved hand and waves.

"_Salute, mia amica bella_."

For once, she wishes she had acted in a moment of recklessness and swiped off the fingers with her bladed fan when she had first heard him arrive. They are most certainly not friends; barely business partners through forced ties with the Borgia. "What are you doing here, Lanz?" she hisses angrily out of being caught off guard.

He hops off the rail and lands silently, never looking away from her face. His crooked smirk remains in place as he hoists a small white bag over his shoulder. "Same as you. _Assassino_ wants me dead. My thieves tell me it's _Auditore_ himself."

"You're rather calm about this." She raises her left eyebrow when he drops the bag next to the Captain's Cabin door and plops down beside it. He doesn't even look around the ship; his eyes have finally left her and look greedily into the bag.

He brings out a brown sack and jingles it around near his ear. Fiora scoffs, "You brought along your prizes when we're being targeted?"

"_Calmatevi_." He points out to sea behind her. "I was in the middle of a spree when the guards found me. I almost took them for a chase… you know, have a bit of fun before leaving them in the dust." He brings up a pearl necklace and smiles to himself. "Good thing I didn't or that _Assassino_ would h—"

"Stop saying their names," she commands from her standing position in front of him. She shudders from the nonchalant way he speaks of them and from the cold.

He blinks once, and lowers the baubles. He seems confused for a moment but then he bursts out laughing. "You scared, _cortigiana_?" He shoves aside the bag and so quick she almost misses the movement, he pulls out two crude but sharp daggers. She's seen him use them once when they first met, seen the flashes of hard punches and blades swiping. "In that case, allow me the pleasure of protecting you." Brown-red hair flies into his right eye but she sees the glint of mischievousness.

Still, she's unimpressed and breathes out a sigh she can see in the cold air. "Big words coming from a man who is in the same boat I am in. Literally."

He easily shrugs off her rejection and places one dagger back in his jacket and takes out a rag to clean the one he still has out. "Suit yourself. I'm looking forward to seeing how you can protect yourself with your bare hands."

"What—" Fiora's hands scramble to her side belt and panic floods her when fingers reach an empty holster. Her fan has been left innocently beneath her pillow as she was dozing before being yanked awake and rushed out of her home. "Oh no."

"You don't have a coat, you don't have any means of protecting yourself, and you've just turned off the only man on here that could possibly provide both of these things for you." He raises the blade to his eyes for inspection of delicate cleaning, not bothering to even attempt to hide his amusement. "What a terrible position to be in."

And despite knowing it's her fault for not being more alert she tries to argue anyway, "It's not easy being prepared when people break into my home and have me in a boat before I am even awake."

"Then that makes me a lucky man. I left my wife and our home a while ago." He says it so carelessly Fiora almost disbelieves him but he doesn't laugh at the supposed joke, so she stands by, trying to imagine what kind of woman he loved and how they lived together.

"I didn't know you were married."

"I _am_ married, _bella_. To a useless woman who teased me with the promise of a child only to lose it in birth."

Amazed at his brutal honesty and unsure of how to continue on the subject, Fiora stumbles with her quiet condolences. "Lanz… I'm sorry—"

"Sorry?" He snorts at her attempt but at least he doesn't spit at her feet. "I don't need your pity. It's only a marriage in the Pope's eyes anyway."

She's long given up on finding a more comfortable position on the wreck of a ship and idly stands next to him, keeping her eyes on the top oh his head while he stares somberly at the mirror of his weapon. He continues quietly, "She keeps coming after me, thinking I'm going to take her back." Lanz chuckles softly and keeps polishing.

The way he says it makes her feel a pang of sympathy for the poor woman out there in Rome, who had recently lost a baby and then shortly after, her husband. Lanz seems to think he is the one wronged in the situation, blaming the entire situation on his wife. It makes Fiora think back to the wicked, selfish men who would visit the brothel she worked in years ago and complain about their innocent wives for whatever reasons. The fire within her chest flares and she has to say something, even if it's intrusive. "A woman doesn't lose a baby on purpose, not when she loves the man she's with."

He looks up at her with mock sweetness, borderline hatred about to break from his sarcasm. "How ironic that a _cortigiana_ is giving me advice on love. What would you know about a family, or love for that matter? You're a person that can sleep around with anyone who has the right amount of coin."

Fiora returns his dark stare, not bothering to explain that the word "courtesan" is merely a title for appearance sake, no longer her true occupation. "You think you're so much different, so much _better_ than me? You left the love of a woman for a life revolving around money." Her hand itches to reach out and slap his face so hard he can never give her that infuriating, hateful smile ever again.

"Then we are both terrible people," he says simply, accepting the fact relatively calmly. "Can you argue with that?"

His eyes are serious and focused; Fiora falters under the intense glare. They stare at each other for a tense moment before she breaks away and slides down to sit next to him, the air of sad defeat surrounding her. He stills with the contact but she rests her head on his shoulder anyway, tired from the arguing and too cold to keep away from body heat. "…No."

The intense atmosphere dies down with the single word and Lanz shrugs off bitter feelings for the person he's going to have to tolerate for a while. He leans back against the wall and examines the shiny surface of his shiv. The usually stained blade is clean now, scrubbed with fastidious care. Fiora is mildly surprised he can actually keep the filthy thing meticulous if he wants to.

"How long do you think we're going to stay here?" she asks quietly, hugging her knees a bit closer, hating how her stomach turns at feeling so trapped and vulnerable on the ship.

"Until midday at the very least. They don't give up, and once they realize we're not in our usual hideouts they'll retreat into the shadows and wait for us in silence."

Another shiver runs down her spine. "You're pretty knowledgeable on them."

"My gang dwindles in numbers because of them. The _Assassini_ aren't giving up." Suddenly, his warm fingers take a hold of her hand and firmly place the polished weapon into her grip. "So until we're back on land, this is yours."

Fiora blinks at the weapon in her hand. It's heavier than the fan she's used to but the force of the blade is all too real. She's had this weapon in her hand once before when Cesare sent her to recruit him to their side. He had completely ignored her approaching him at the church, intent on counting the money from his newest steal in a brown sack… until she threw the dagger to his view, and he looked up, stunned to have his weapon back. Almost thankful until he quickly remembered the only people that could possibly have his shiv would be the Borgia.

The fact that he trusts her enough with a prized weapon, that he now only has the other lone weapon in his jacket, that he is counting on her to be able to protect herself with _his_ weapon, touches a very odd, small sliver of her heart for the briefest of moments.

So she slowly nods and without taking her hand out of his, tightens her hold around the black blade.

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Thank you for reading. :) Drop a quick review if you can.


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